BubbleStream

Melinda Brasher

Chaos Rises

Synopsis

The day the hill tiger attacks, young Hala realizes excitedly that she may have the gift. As time passes, however, she wonders what good it is: a power that manifests itself only in the ability to accidentally summon animals at inconvenient times. The local mage hasn't been able to teach her to control it, and she can't even reliably summon her own sheep. Then one day she returns home to find a black-cloaked stranger holding her village under a terrible spell. Alone, she must find a way to save her family, her friends, and the boy who has finally begun to notice her.
Enjoy "Chaos Rises" as a stand-alone short story or as a companion to Far-Knowing.
Download free from Smashwords:
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/422314

Author Biography

Melinda Brasher has lived in Poland, Mexico, and the Czech Republic, teaching English as a second language and traveling every chance she gets. She loves leisurely hikes, season changes, and shelves stuffed with books. Connect with her online at http://www.melindabrasher.com.

Author Insight

Hill Tigers

These beasts mostly inhabit the nightmares of Andalinn's children. Like many big cats, they're secretive and rarely seen by humans. When cornered, however, they're fierce, as Hala discovers.
I've lived in Arizona a good share of my life, and I've done a fair amount of hiking and camping. We have mountain lions and bobcats both, but I've never seen either.
I've heard of full-sized leopards and such hiding for months in huge cities.
Cats are amazing.

Book Excerpt

Chaos Rises

Hala was picking rumpelberries the day she
accidentally summoned the hill tiger. Two buckets, almost full.
Hands slippery with juice. Stomach gurgling guiltily from the
sour-sweet feast. Nothing on her mind but the warmth of the sun and
her mother's rumpelberry tart. Rumpelberry soup with cream.
Rumpelberry sauce on venison.

She'd just discovered another bush when the
guttural warning sounded behind her. She whirled, berries flying
from her hand, as a flash of dull orange blocked out the trees.

Pain seared her arm, where she'd lifted it to
block her face. The beast's teeth dragged through her flesh until
they ripped themselves free. Only then did she realize what it was:
a real hill tiger. It glared at her through red slitted eyes, its
black gums pulled back from three-inch fangs.

She swung the berry bucket at its head. It
hissed and she screamed, but she kept swinging. Berries pelted down
on them as the tiger's paws slashed through the sunlight and tore
at her skin. She lashed out with a foot, so hard the tiger jumped
away, arched its back, and hissed again. Then it was gone, running
off so fast she hardly even saw it bolt. She didn't let go of the
bucket's handle until the birds started singing again and the blood
from her arm had begun to mix with the ruined berries on the
ground.

Hala retold the story at least a dozen times
that day, while the healer worked patiently on her wounds. Her
brother wanted to know how fast it could run, and how thick its
muscles were. Her mother demanded to know why she'd gone picking
berries alone in the first place, though Hala insisted that
thirteen years old was practically grown up. Her father grilled her
for details of its location so he could organize the other
villagers to keep watch with him through the nights to come. But
the healer kept asking pointed questions about the hour
before the attack, and what she'd been doing and touching
and thinking about, and if she'd been particularly calm and
content.

The healer ignored him, and focused on Hala.
"Do you often see animals when you're outside the village?"

"Sometimes."

"Do you have vermin problems at home?"

"Are you insulting my housekeeping?" her
mother huffed. "Might I remind you that you haven't dusted those
books of your since before the mountains rose from the plains?"

"Your housekeeping would have nothing to do
with it," the healer said, then stopped her questioning. But the
seed had been planted, and its roots were growing in Hala's head,
blotting out the pain in her arm.

The village had nearly thirty families, if
you included the outlying farms, but only one trained mage: the
healer. She herself admitted she was better at herbology than
magecraft. The blacksmith's gift was probably greater. He certainly
acted like it, going around lighting fires with his glare and
casting embarrassing suggestion enchantments on anyone foolish
enough to submit.

The handful of other villagers with the gift
couldn't do much more than enchant their bread to taste sweeter or
make themselves look younger on nights when the village held
dancing in the green. No one she knew had ever summoned
animals.

All night, consciousness ebbing and flowing
with the pain, Hala hoped it was true. Being a magic-wielder was
something. Not as good as beauty or wealth, but something. And Kreg
would finally notice her—Kreg who liked to sneak around doing his
clever mischief under the protection of spotty look-away
enchantments. Maybe she'd be brave enough, one day, to tell him
that his spells never worked on her. She never looked away, since
he was the most interesting thing in the whole village.